- Opera: On a normal day it is possible to hear the same scene over and over for three plus hours
Motherhood: On a normal day we listen to "Cows" over and over for hours on end. - Opera: For six to eight weeks I watch the same show or at least parts of the same show everyday, then a new one for six weeks, and so on.
Motherhood: I have seen Lion King virtually everyday for about two months, before that Little Mermaid, next I'm sure Cinderella - Opera: For hours on end some one is singing very loudly in a language that I don't always understand
Motherhood: All day long someone is yelling at me in a language I don't always understand - Opera: Diva - enough said
Motherhood: Diva - enough said - Opera: I don't always get to be the good guy and often have to say no, even when I don't want to
Motherhood: I don't always get to be the good guy and often have to say no even when I don't want to
Monday, March 7, 2011
How Opera Prepared Me for Motherhood
I have been astonished lately at the correlations between being an Opera Stage Manager and a Mom, so of course I had to share:
Saturday, March 5, 2011
A Year Later
For about a week and a half now I've been trying to write the perfect post about how it feels to be a year out of treatment (February 22 was the day). Obviously I have been having A LOT of difficulty putting it in to words.
It wasn't quite the anniversary I had expected a few months earlier. Back in October I had decided I was going to run a marathon in honor of the great day. Sadly because of getting pneumonia that goal got nipped in the bud (for this year anyway). I did however go see four of my friends complete a 1/2 Marathon in Galveston, it was amazing to watch them cross the finish line. I find marathons emotional on a number of levels but that day I just felt joy in sharing the experience with them.
Last year a dear friend sent me a bottle of champagne to celebrate but I couldn't drink it at the time. I swore I would open it and toast to good health and fortune this year. That didn't happen either, only because I forgot to pack it in my suitcase.
On the 22nd Baby Chang and I flew to Denver and Prairie Dad flew back to Minneapolis. That evening my family and I celebrated with Rib-eye Steaks and Strawberry Cheesecake. The Rib-eye's because that was truly the first meal I ate or at least truly enjoyed after treatment though long after the 22nd and the cheesecake because Mom Chang asked what I wanted for dessert.
Other than that I didn't think much about it. I thought it would be a bigger milestone than it really was. In fact I think that the anniversary of the first day of treatment or the day I got the diagnosis will stick with me longer than the completion. Perhaps it's because I'm still dealing with side effects that there is a part of me that doesn't feel like it's all over. There are days when every sneeze or ache make me fear the worst. When I'm a little more tired than usual I breathe deep not to relax but to make sure there isn't a strange pain in my lungs.
Then there are days when I see my strength reflected in Baby Chang. When she decides to go head first down the slide without waiting for someone to be at the bottom to catch her. Or when she jumps into the swimming pool submerging herself without know whether or not she will be able to stand back up. She is fearless and trusting.
She trusts that I will be at the bottom to catch her and that if she can't stand back up I'll pick her up. Her belief that I will always be there astounds and amazes me. After a year of Mommy not always being able to rock her to sleep or pick her up when she falls she has no room for doubt or fear. A lesson that a year out of treatment I am trying to take to heart.
It wasn't quite the anniversary I had expected a few months earlier. Back in October I had decided I was going to run a marathon in honor of the great day. Sadly because of getting pneumonia that goal got nipped in the bud (for this year anyway). I did however go see four of my friends complete a 1/2 Marathon in Galveston, it was amazing to watch them cross the finish line. I find marathons emotional on a number of levels but that day I just felt joy in sharing the experience with them.
Last year a dear friend sent me a bottle of champagne to celebrate but I couldn't drink it at the time. I swore I would open it and toast to good health and fortune this year. That didn't happen either, only because I forgot to pack it in my suitcase.
On the 22nd Baby Chang and I flew to Denver and Prairie Dad flew back to Minneapolis. That evening my family and I celebrated with Rib-eye Steaks and Strawberry Cheesecake. The Rib-eye's because that was truly the first meal I ate or at least truly enjoyed after treatment though long after the 22nd and the cheesecake because Mom Chang asked what I wanted for dessert.
Other than that I didn't think much about it. I thought it would be a bigger milestone than it really was. In fact I think that the anniversary of the first day of treatment or the day I got the diagnosis will stick with me longer than the completion. Perhaps it's because I'm still dealing with side effects that there is a part of me that doesn't feel like it's all over. There are days when every sneeze or ache make me fear the worst. When I'm a little more tired than usual I breathe deep not to relax but to make sure there isn't a strange pain in my lungs.
Then there are days when I see my strength reflected in Baby Chang. When she decides to go head first down the slide without waiting for someone to be at the bottom to catch her. Or when she jumps into the swimming pool submerging herself without know whether or not she will be able to stand back up. She is fearless and trusting.
She trusts that I will be at the bottom to catch her and that if she can't stand back up I'll pick her up. Her belief that I will always be there astounds and amazes me. After a year of Mommy not always being able to rock her to sleep or pick her up when she falls she has no room for doubt or fear. A lesson that a year out of treatment I am trying to take to heart.
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